The Summer I Went Wild Chapter 3 Part 4
The Summer I Went Wild
Chapter Three
Part Three
A chill ran down my spine, the weight of her words pressing on me. Regret hit me like a punch when I saw the pain etched across her face—the pain I had caused.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hoping the words could somehow fix everything broken between us.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You wouldn’t have thrown it so carelessly in my face if you were.”
“No, Mom. I mean it. I was angry. I didn’t know what came over me.”
I reached out, wiping the tears from her cheek and pulling her into a hug. My hands moved up and down her back, trying to soothe us both.
“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me,” I said softly. “But…”
The rest of the sentence stayed lodged in my throat. I didn’t want the life she had planned for me. I wanted to be an artist—even if it meant doing it alongside everything else.
“I do what I do because I want the best for you,” she said. “I don’t want you wasting time on a frivolous competition when your exams are right around the corner.”
And just like that, we were back where we started.
She would never understand. I was already majoring in law because of her—why couldn’t she let me have this one thing?
“I can handle both.”
“No, you can’t,” she snapped. “You’re not Shakespeare or Da Vinci. You’re my son. And I want you to focus on the right things at the right time.”
I pulled back and met her gaze. “I love you, Mom. But I can’t stop competing.”
“Not on my watch,” she said, her voice hard as steel.
“This is my life.”
“And you’re my son,” she fired back. “I won’t let you throw away your future for useless things.”
With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there, stunned. For a moment, I’d thought we were close to understanding each other.
I was wrong.
I paced the room, running a hand through my hair. I needed a smoke—or something to break. Anything to release the pressure building inside me.
My fists clenched, a scream clawing its way up my throat, sharp and aching.
And then it hit me.
Anger.
Hot, burning, alive.
I hadn’t felt it in a long time.
This was my chance.
I sat down, hunched over my sketchbook, heart pounding. Determination buzzed through me, steady and fierce.
I was going to enter that competition.
And Mom?
She wouldn’t stop me this time.
No matter how many strings she tried to pull—this was mine.